


black sea.

by Cat__nevermind



Series: lately, it always seems to be Finnick Odair [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Friendship, Hunger Games Victors, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentors, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, dark humour, jesus this is really dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat__nevermind/pseuds/Cat__nevermind
Summary: "There’s something, something in Finnick’s eyes she can’t dismiss, something she hasn’t seen in him before, another game, a different mask. If Johanna didn’t know any better, she’d call it rage."Johanna Mason fights to survive. Finnick Odair doesn't fail.
Relationships: Annie Cresta & Johanna Mason, Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Blight/Johanna Mason, Cashmere & Finnick Odair, Haymitch Abernathy & Johanna Mason, Johanna Mason & Annie & Finnick's Son, Johanna Mason & Finnick Odair
Series: lately, it always seems to be Finnick Odair [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801981
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	black sea.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, the thrid part of this little series. Thank you to anyone who's still sticking with me! After this, there's going to be a fourth and final part... 
> 
> Again, this work features heavy themes such as rape/non-con elements, suicidal thoughts, mental health issues, death and loss, mentions of self-harm, and alcoholism. 
> 
> Take care and stay safe!

68th

Johanna Mason is the only female victor District 7 has ever had.

It sounds absurd to her, especially considering the fact that the girls in Seven are just as ruthless as the men, they’re even built similarly, broad shoulders and hardened muscles, stone made faces, calloused skin. It’s even more absurd to think that supposedly, she’s special now.

There’s a private celebration, there’s the Victory Tour, there’s so much going on and all Johanna keeps thinking is how she just wants to flee, run off into the woods and never have to face any of these people ever again.

Regret for what she did would be considered whiny and indelicate by most Seven citizens, she’s meant to be proud and unshakeable - and so she is, most days, she is. The difference is that the others, the people that keep congratulating and praising her, they don’t have to remember the crying girl from Five and the tiny boy from Eleven, who were torn apart by the Careers right in front of her eyes. They don’t know about the way Johanna has to check every corner of every room every night before she can even think about falling asleep, how she always scans her surroundings for potential threats, the best route to escape. They never felt the way she did when she killed the tributes from One, the girl from Two, the boy from Three.

So, really, Johanna never regrets, but there’s definitely no pride inside of her either.

She meets Haymitch Abernathy on the fifth day of her Victory Tour, he’s shitfaced and greets her with a bitter laugh, at first she thinks he’s going to shake her hand like all of the others did, but when he grabs it, he almost breaks her fingers and pulls her closer, her eyes water from the smell that’s clouding him.

“You’re the clever one, aren’t you”, he says.

Johanna clenches her fists and tries to pull herself away from him, but his grip is tighter than what she expected from a drunk. So, she punches him. Hits him right in the stomach, sends him stumbling backwards, watches with satisfaction. Her hand is aching.

Haymitch laughs again, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he sounds absolutely delighted this time.

“So, you’re a mean little fucker. I respect that, honestly, I do.”

He grimaces, his arms folded protectively over his stomach.

Johanna says: “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Haymitch grins, revealing his crooked teeth. This time it’s unmistakeable how much he’s actually enjoying himself.

“I would never”, he says. Then: “You wanna get a drink?”

At home, Johanna always looked down on the workers that numbed their days with bad beer and cheap liquor, always thought that never in her life she’d ever be pathetic enough to fall into the alcohol trap. Now, she finds that actually, it’s fucking efficient in terms of chasing the intrusive thoughts away.

On the eighth day, she meets Finnick Odair.

Ever since the fateful encounter with Haymitch and his whiskey, Johanna has managed to stay pleasantly drunk for most of the time, at least drunk enough to make the faces and voices disappear, shield herself from the unwanted attention. But Finnick Odair breaks right through her walls.

He finds her outside of the Justice Building, empty glass in hand and obliviously staring at the sea, taken aback by the strangeness of it all, the view, the scent, the salty wind on her skin.

“So”, he says, his voice agreeably quiet, “do you want to get out of here?”

Johanna spins and glares at him.

“You gotta be kidding me”, she growls.

With a soft laugh and a shrug, he steps beside her and tilts his head, his smile is like the traps they lay in the forest: sweet and alluring but secretly deadly. Johanna knows better.

“Depends”, Finnick purrs. “Do you want me to be serious or not?”

Johanna snorts and turns away, but she can still feel his gaze lingering on her.

“Okay, let’s say I’m joking.”

“Why are you still talking to me?”

“Because you’re the only interesting person at this party. Maybe in the entire District.”

“Fucking hell, I’m not interested, Odair. Stop the… Whatever it is you’re doing.”

Finnick laughs again and she can feel him shift positions.

Of course, Johanna is lying. She doubts there is anyone in the entire world who would not be interested in spending the night with Finnick Odair, he’s frustratingly gorgeous, really, but Johanna is tired and worn out and she never learned how to do any of the things he’d want to do. Before the Games she was still a child. Now, it just seems ridiculous to her to worry about boys and heartbreaks.

“A shame, really”, Finnick hums. “I would have shown you the beach. There’s nothing quite like it, really.”

“What’s wrong with you?”, she asks.

This time, his laugh is different, kind of falters halfway and turns into a more cynical noise.

“You know what”, he says after a while, “I’ll show it to you anyway. Please, if I have to pretend to enjoy one more pointless conversation, I’m literally going to self-combust.”

For a moment, she’s torn between general aversion and overwhelming curiosity and considers her possibilities, but finally she turns to him and nods shortly. The thought of having to endure the rest of the night with Blight and his never-ending flood of words puts everything in perspective.

Finnick half-heartedly cheers in triumph and then gestures for her to follow him away from the festivities and down a little dirt track, towards the steady sound of clashing waves.

Johanna quickly kicks off her stupid high heels, so she doesn’t stumble. The sand is cold beneath her bare feet, but soft, like an endless pool of flour.

“Holy shit”, she whispers gently.

“It’s something, isn’t it?”

He’s watching her from a few steps away, his silhouette against the dark sea and the sky, moonlight caught in strands of his pretty bronze curls. Johanna turns her face away and crosses her arms in front of her chest, shivers when the wind hits her face again.

“Of course it’s much better with proper light and everything, but you get the gist.”

Behind him, there is an endless body of water, too turbulent to resemble the lakes at home, black waves rolling onto the shore with the force of a dozen thunderstorms, the horizon clearly visible as a fine line between the ocean and the stars.

She doesn’t know how long she just stands and stares, her slightly tipsy mind can’t fully comprehend what she’s seeing. Finnick Odair smiles at her then. He looks more vibrant when he’s close to the sea she realises, and for just a tiny moment, for the first time in a long time, Johanna thinks she might be feeling something other than fear.

When they make her go back to the Capitol, everything gets worse.

It’s the grand finale of her Victory Tour, an extravagant party with a number of famous people attending, big names in the Capitol, Gamemakers and victors, of course. Johanna feels like someone rammed an axe into her spine and is now controlling her by moving it around and hitting the right nerves at the right time. She’s mindless and unfree.

Finnick is the first person she crashes into who she actually recognizes, but he doesn’t seem to recall the way they found common ground in District 4, instead he makes an insinuating joke and winks at her, presents his barely clothed body in ways she finds painfully attractive, yet absolutely disgusting. His pupils are so big she can barely see the electric colour of his iris and there’s a woman at his side who’s pressing her fake nails into his arm like claws digging into prey.

Johanna spends the rest of the night drinking and hiding in the crowd.

It gets even worse after the reaping.

Naturally, Johanna is a mentor, she travels back to the Capitol with Blight, their escort, and two underfed, untrained twelve-year olds - who know just as well as anyone else that they don’t stand a chance.

Johanna doesn’t listen to anything anyone tells her, especially not if it’s Blight, she just doesn’t have the capacity to care, doesn’t even bother to learn what mentoring exactly means, because really, there’s no way anyone could get these two tributes through the Games.

After the parade, she strolls through the Tribute Centre until she finds a bar on the ground floor. And as expected, at the bar, she finds Haymitch Abernathy.

“Look who it is”, he greets her, slurring his speech and grinning wickedly. “The mean little fucker.”

Johanna rolls her eyes and drops down on the stool next to him, waving for the barman to pour her whatever.

“Enjoying the mentor experience, are we?”, Haymitch asks.

“Fuck off.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I swear, I’m gonna murder someone if shit goes on like this”, she says and takes a big sip, it’s bitter and burns like liquid fire, she coughs and shakes her head to get rid of the horrifying taste.

“Ah. Tough first day, I see. Well, I can promise you, it’s all downhill from here.”

“Bastards.”

Haymitch frowns and raises his glass.

“I’ll drink to that.”

And so, they do. Johanna can almost hear Blight’s voice in her head ranting about responsibility and other worthless bullshit and she gladly clinks glasses with Haymitch as a silent _fuck you_ to her former mentor. All she ever wanted to do was to not die. Survive, and maybe after, live.

There’s nothing she can do for those unfortunate enough to come after her.

“So, you’ve been at this for a while”, she says, to which Haymitch responds with a grunt.

“Is it a thing that you get invites to, I don’t know, private parties?”

She supposes she ought to ask Blight about this, he’s from her district and always so keen on educating her, but coming to him with questions would feel like a defeat, and Haymitch is probably too drunk to remember their conversation anyway, so it’s a win-win for her.

“I never get invited anywhere”, he says with a shrug. But then, something seems to dawn on him, he squints and leans in, trying to whisper discretely:

“You got a letter, didn’t you? Of course you did, after that performance they just have to have you, don’t they?”

“So, what’s that about? It just said a name and a date and to be ready for prep.”

“Fuck me, I have no actual clue. You should talk to the expert. I saw him earlier, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to fill you in on the details.”

Even though Johanna still isn’t sure what he’s talking about exactly, she can tell that it’s some kind of sick joke to him.

“What the fuck, Abernathy?”

But he just leans back and waves at someone on the other side of the room, almost falls over and barely catches himself by grabbing Johanna’s shoulder.

“Odair”, he calls, “can you spare a second?”

 _Not him_ , she thinks, _of all people, why him?_

Finnick walks over to them with a weary smile, leans on the bar and asks in his too friendly tone of voice: “How can I help you, Haymitch?”

“Not me. Mason over here could use some advice.”

His gaze travels to her and this time, he seems to recognize her.

“Johanna. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Bullshit”, she snarls.

Haymitch roars laughter into his drink. A little out of breath he then explains: “She got a letter.”

Finnick’s expression changes, but Johanna can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“What does it mean?”, she asks, because it can hardly get any more embarrassing than it already is.

He slowly sits down on the stool next to Haymitch and gestures at the barman. Johanna notices red abrasions on his wrists.

“Didn’t your mentor tell you anything about it?”

“Blight? Not a word.”

She can’t help the obvious contempt in her voice. Finnick gives her a considering look, his eyes are those of a judge. Then, he says:

“It’s an invitation to a date. You’ll probably meet at a hotel, the first time they’re gonna be gentle, explain it to you, he always picks someone who’ll make sure you get through it.”

“I don’t understand”, she says.

“Well”, Finnick explains without looking at her, “the name on the card is the person you’re going to entertain for the night.”

It knocks the breath out of her lungs. He can’t be talking about what she thinks he is.

“You mean like, like…”

Her voice fails and she stares at her fingers, wonders when they started to close this tightly around the glass. Johanna can smash skulls in with the force of her arm, but she stutters trying to get the word _sex_ to cross her lips.

“Yes. Exactly that.”

There’s a moment of silence which even Haymitch doesn’t disturb with an inappropriate outburst.

“I’d say it gets better, but honestly, it doesn’t”, Finnick says quietly.

Johanna feels rage. Panic and disbelief and _betrayal_ , why didn’t anyone ever say something, what’s the big fucking secrecy, why would Blight be concerned about the fucking sponsors but forget to mention _this_? This horrendous, inhumane thing, this horrible, horrible danger which she can’t seem to outrun.

“I don’t know why I’m still surprised”, she mumbles. “They’re totally fine with killing children for sport and betting on it, why the fuck would they have a problem with forcing them into prostitution?”

Immediately she knows, she did it again, said too much, something too controversial that shouldn’t be controversial at all. If her mother were here, she’d scold her, prognosticate that her rash words will get all of them into trouble one day. Johanna never seems to learn.

And, holy shit, her parents. They’re at home, waiting for her to come back, probably having to tell themselves over and over that this time, she’s safe, this time, she definitely will return. They have no idea that this time, Johanna is facing an even greater threat. The shame at the mere thought of having to face them again _after_ makes her want to puke.

Finnick cringes and takes a sip and Haymitch huffs a bitter laugh. Johanna thinks that maybe not dying was the wrong wish to have in the first place.

The rest of the night drowns in liquor and denial, she finds that the more desperate she gets, the more alcohol she craves. At some point Haymitch is gone and it’s just her and Finnick Odair, he’s probably sober, it’s hard to tell with him. When he asks her if she wants to go to bed, she almost starts to cry.

Frantically she tries to tell him that she can’t go back, that she can’t face Blight, that she’s going to rip his throat out if she does or maybe turn into a sobbing mess, that being alone with her thoughts will undoubtedly make her lose her mind for good.

“Okay”, he says. “Come stay with me then.”

As if it were that simple.

“You’re just gonna… Y’know, you’re just trying to get me to get into bed with you!”

She loses her balance and wraps her arm around his waist to keep herself from falling over. Finnick laughs, it sounds genuine, and he puts his arm over her shoulders to keep both of them steady and upright.

“Trust me, I’m not.”

They somehow manage to get to his room; he sets her down on the bed and helps her take off her shoes, the mattress is soft and comfortable, and Johanna lets her head rest on his pillow, breathes the strange mixture of the Capitol’s smells and Finnick.

“You’re nice”, she tells him, not even trying to hide the surprise in her voice. “Why are you nice? You’re supposed to be insufferably arrogant.”

She clumsily stumbles over the word _insufferably_ , it takes her three full attempts to get it across her lips properly.

“Shocking, I know”, Finnick replies with an amused snort. He drops down next to her and wipes his face with both of his hands.

“There’s water on the nightstand”, he says. “If you need anything, just call me, okay?”

“Where are you going?”

He sighs. It’s a soft sound, like a spring breeze rushing through leaves.

“Well, I promised you I wouldn’t try to get into bed with you.”

Suddenly, the prospect of being alone with her thoughts seems unbearable, so she protests:

“Yeah, but we’re not going to, you know, _do_ anything. The bed is big enough anyway!”

She tries to reach for his elbow to pull him over, but moving is just too exhausting, so instead she just yawns: “Don’t be a fucking bore, Odair.”

He looks at her for a moment as if contemplating what to do. Eventually, he gives in, kicks off his own shoes and says:

“Fine.”

Johanna exhales with relief, even if her company is Finnick Odair, someone who’s just as easily bought as coal in District Twelve, anything is better than having to face the horrors in her mind on her own tonight.

She waits until he lays down next to her, keeping a generous amount of space between them. He’s probably scared she’ll panic if he gets too close. As if she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

“Were you scared?”, she asks, facing the ceiling. “Before your first… you know?”

Finnick doesn’t move, it sounds like he even stopped breathing for a second. Then, after what feels like an eternity to Johanna, he replies:

“Yes. Very much actually.”

“Oh.”

“They were kind though. The first time they always are, I think.”

His voice seems to be coming from far away, it sounds much hoarser than she remembers it.

“How many letters did you get since then?”

There’s an unidentifiable noise coming from the back of his throat. A little like retching.

“I don’t know”, he says. “At some point I stopped counting. It wouldn’t do much good anyway. It’s not like I’m ever getting out of this.”

Johanna feels his words settle on top of her like stones, they fit right in with the constant fear that has been occupying her chest ever since the reaping. In the dark, she turns her head to look at him. His face is beautiful still but pained.

“Oh”, she says again.

Johanna kills the man before she even realises, she wants to.

It’s too easy, the rope around her wrists almost an invitation, as if he wanted her to at least consider it. Or maybe he was just too dense, too stupid to know that, after everything, obviously killing is second nature to her.

He’s strong, broad-shouldered and muscular, but Johanna knows how to fight. Nowadays, leaping at him, wrapping the rope around his neck, twisting, and pulling – it’s easier than falling asleep.

She regains a glimpse of consciousness while she’s still choking him, feels the rope digging into her skin, hears him coughing and gasping for air. A tremor moves through his body, soft fingers stroke her face, too weak to push her away. Johanna tightens her grip anyway.

Next thing she knows, she’s standing over him, panting. For a moment it feels nothing short of glorious.

Later, she’ll always remember the way he treated her when he found her, rope still in hands, naked and covered in burning red welts. His face never betraying a thing, he held out one hand, approached her like a hunter approaches game, like a fisherman wades through shallow water, like how she might have moved on rotten wood. Cautious, calculating, and deadly skilled. Trained to do exactly what he came to do.

“Johanna”, he calls her.

“Johanna, look at me.”

She allows him to get close, permits him to disentangle the rope from her scratched fingers and drape his shirt around her like a coat. As if the evidence of the Capitol’s sick cruelty could disappear when concealed and neatly hidden away. As if it could diminish her humiliation.

Other than that, Finnick doesn’t attempt to touch her, only places his arm around her waist when she stumbles and leans into the touch. It’s not the physical contact that horrifies her, but the sweetened scent of candy and flowers, the accent, the pitched voices, that make her feel sick to the stomach.

(Afterwards it takes years until she can be in the presence of any Capitol citizen and not keep her eyes, hands, thoughts on the nearest weapon, the nearest exit.)

So, Finnick leads her to safety. Somehow her injuries are treated, she gets fresh clothes and a glass of water. There are Peacekeepers blocking the door. Finnick is beside her the entire time.

When they’re alone again, he starts to tell her things that sound like explanations, but they all rush through her like wind through fallen leaves. Only snippets reach her brain.

“…the potential rumours… after your Games… staying at my room… a replacement. A change of plans… not the original client, just a punishment… my fault… my client… “

The Peacekeepers at the door haven’t moved. Johanna wishes she could kill them too.

“…it passes… consequences… I’m sorry.”

At that, she snaps her head in his direction, squints to see him clearly. Finnick looks just about as miserable as she feels, it sends hot, burning anger through her veins. W _hat the fuck is it to him?_

“I should have been there sooner”, he says.

There’s something, _something_ in his eyes Johanna can’t dismiss, something she hasn’t seen in him before, another game, a different mask. Only it seems that this something is not a part of his grand show, but a private thing, something he’d never let himself reveal in public.

If Johanna didn’t know any better, she’d call it rage.

The rest of it goes like this:

Johanna screams at him for hours, possibly. Actually, Johanna screams at everyone who comes near her for a while, doesn’t stop until there’s literally no sound coming out of her mouth and her throat feels like she’s been swallowing razor blades.

They don’t tell her what’s going to happen next. The marks the dead man left on her body are stinging reminders of what happened, of what’s been done to her. Finnick takes it all, like he always does. No one tells her a damn thing. When she tries to throw herself at the Peacekeepers, there are arms around her torso, holding her back. She screams some more at that.

Wishes they’d just kill her and get it over with.

Blight is there then, appears out of nowhere and tells her things Johanna naturally doesn’t listen to. They take her back to Seven after someone manages to hold her down long enough for the needle to be rammed into her arm and the tranquilizer is effectively numbing her brain. At this point, Finnick is long gone.

Like a tiresome mosquito, Blight doesn’t leave her side for one moment. Not when she roars at him to leave her alone on the train, not when she tries to run from him at the station. All she really wants to do is go home, fall into her mother’s arms and cry like a baby, hear her father laugh, and sit with them in front of the fireplace until everything can be alright again.

Blight doesn’t leave her side when she reaches the smouldering ruins of her house either.

In her head, she hears Finnick’s voice, _a punishment, consequences, I’m sorry_.

_Johanna. Johanna, look at me._

It’s Blight who stops her from running into the flames, Blight, who drapes his arms around her like a shield and presses her against his chest as she fights and riots and weeps.

Blight, for the first time silent but solid like a rock, who lifts her trembling body up into his arms and carries her away from her dead parents and their burning home.

70th

Annie Cresta’s year is special in many ways.

It’s special even before it becomes clear that it is going to be hers. Johanna hasn’t taken a blade to her skin at all since she arrived in the Capitol (which is a personal record and she mainly does it to keep Blight from pestering her about it) and Finnick has a brand-new haunted look in his eyes as he almost neurotically keeps away from any sort of human touch.

Johanna thinks that she’s lucky Snow decided to fire all his ammunition against her at once and didn’t keep her leashed and dangling like he does with Finnick.

The morning after the Tribute Parade, she slips into his bedroom. Now, it really doesn’t matter anymore if they’re causing rumours, what else is there that could be done to hurt them? Finnick is about to fall into the abyss anyway, barely holding onto the edge with bleeding fingertips.

It was his father’s death that sent him stumbling, or rather his father’s murder. The perfect showman’s single mistake that had his whole act crashing down and demanded to punishment. Johanna knows all about killing family members. She’s the blooming example.

She drops down on the other side of his bed and unpacks her breakfast, takes a bite of her sandwich before she says:

“Time to wake up, Odair.”

Johanna may be many things, but she’s not stupid enough to try and shake him awake.

Finnick stirs in his sleep, he’s shivering, hugging himself tightly, his hair a mess of golden curls scattered across the pillow. She pretends not to notice the split lip or the blood on the sheets.

“Odair”, she says firmly, a little louder now.

He makes a muffled sound and drags his body away from her.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Fuck off, Mason”, is his groaned reply.

“Polite as ever, I see. I brought breakfast.”

He presses his face into the pillow and tells her a string of rather obscene suggestions on where she can put that breakfast. Johanna thinks that today might be a good day.

“You are a giant dick”, she grunts.

Finnick half-heartedly lifts his head.

“Ah yes”, he says. “That is what I’m known for.”

He doesn’t wiggle his eyebrows like he usually would have, but Johanna grins and takes another bite of her sandwich. For good measure she adds:

“Don’t be a fucking bore, Odair.”

Finally, Finnick pushes himself up on his elbows, every visible inch of skin beneath his shirt seems to be coloured in all sorts of blue and green and purple. Fingerprints. Quickly, Johanna lowers her eyes. Despite the dismal state of his body, he plays along, gives her a pointed look and sighs:

“You truly are the meanest person I’ve ever encountered.”

“Why, thank you!”

“Asshole.”

But he gets up. For a while that’s all that matters.

They play this game every time. In the morning, she finds him, often still drugged and trapped in nightmares. She sits with him and riles him up until he drags himself out of bed and throws timid insults back at her.

When he finally does, it usually barely feels like a win to her. In fact, Johanna gets the feeling that it takes more effort for him every day. But this is how Blight got her through her parents’ deaths, how she pushed Finnick last year for the final painful week in the Capitol, after Snow had shown him his father’s corpse. In lack of a better plan, this is how she’s going to keep pushing him.

Still, instead of getting easier, it just seems to be getting harder and harder, and for the first time since she’s known him, Johanna is afraid that Finnick Odair might not make it in the long run.

But this is not a fight she’s going to give up.

“So”, she says when he comes back from the bathroom and begins to inspect the sandwiches she brought, “how are your tributes looking this year?”

Finnick settles for one with extra cheese and shrugs.

“Not entirely hopeless.”

Johanna has of course seen both of them and she silently agrees. District Four, unlike District Seven, has never been entirely hopeless. As a matter of fact, she thinks it might have been a mercy if just once, this year they had been.

“You don’t seem up for it though.”

It - the sponsor-seeking, dick-sucking game of mentoring. He flashes her a cold look.

“Don’t act so entitled, Mason.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Mouth full of sandwich, he snaps: “Don’t act like I’m the only mess around here. Or are we gonna talk about your newly acquired taste for bracelets?”

“Fuck you, Odair”, Johanna says, and means it.

Finnick grimaces. “All I’m saying is this is a two-way street. You get to preach to me about the extra clients when you stop ignoring _that_.” He nods in the direction of her wrists. 

“Extra clients?! What the ever-loving fuck, Finnick?”

“They need sponsors. I know how to get them.”

“Yes, but since when does that include selling yourself voluntarily?”

“Since I’m done letting people die, Jo. I don’t care what it takes, I’m having a victor this year. I need to have one survive. _I need to_.”

“And whoring around is the way to do it?”

“I don’t know, is cutting the better option?”

They stare at each other for a moment, something dark and heavy growing in the back of the room. Finnick clicks his tongue.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know”, Johanna mutters. “Neither did I.”

She follows him to the dining room and drops down on the chair next to his, gladly reaches for a glass of orange juice. Finnick, hidden away in an oversized, very un-Capitol hoodie, empties the sugar sprinkler into his coffee.

The tributes, a tall blond boy and a girl with striking green eyes and waves of dark hair, enter the room together, they pause for half a heartbeat when they recognise the two of them, but Johanna offers no explanation upon her presence. Instead, she gestures for the Avox behind her to add something stronger to her juice. If Finnick notices, he keeps his disapproval to himself.

“Good morning, Annie, Lewis. How are you feeling?”, he hums, no sign of bitterness or straining in his voice. Sometimes the rapidness of his changing faces still makes Johanna shiver.

Since it’s a rather stupid question, neither of them replies. The boy just looks Finnick up and down, takes a seat across the table and remarks: “You look like you had fun last night.”

Nothing about his tone of voice is friendly.

It’s impulse, really, Johanna already has the angry insults ready at the tip of her tongue, her muscles preparing to lunge at him. _Who does he think he is_ , she wonders grimly, _to judge us?_

But Finnick’s voice is still honey when he says, as casually as if he were chatting about the weather: “Don’t, Mason. I was out securing sponsors for the two of you, so fun wasn’t really my objective.”

“When are we going to talk strategy?”, the girl enquires. She sits down next to her fellow tribute, but doesn’t touch the food, just watches both, Johanna and Finnick, like a hawk.

“See, that’s what you have Mags for. She’s brilliant. And she’s the one who mentored me, so you can expect quality results.”

“Yeah, but it’s been a while since she’s actually been to an arena though.”

Lewis has his eyes fixed on Finnick, unflinching. Johanna might have liked his provocative manner if the circumstances had been different.

“Look, there is a reason we do it that way, alright? Mags gives all the tips and advice; I take care of the sponsors. And you’re gonna need sponsors, that’s for sure.”

Lewis snorts: “Because that tactic worked out so well the last couple of years, right.”

Under the table, she touches Finnick’s leg with hers, he twitches but doesn’t move away. Then, she downs her glass.

“This year is going to be different”, Finnick just says. Underneath the chanting sound of his words, Johanna hears rumbling, collapsing pines, determination. She thinks that Finnick Odair doesn’t fail. That maybe he’s beginning to pull himself back up.

They’re in the mentor lounge when it happens.

All eyes are glued to the screens, even Johanna’s, although there’s nothing left for her to do. As expected, her tributes are long gone. She’s only there because Finnick asked her to, actually asked her to. He’s a frail figure, sleep-deprived out of his mind, constantly covered in makeup to hide whatever residue the people he allows to fuck him left on his body. But his eyes, they’re clearer than they have been in a long time.

The two Four tributes have been sticking together since the start. Johanna admits she underestimated the girl, Annie, she’s handy with a knife, keeps her cool where Lewis’ temper kicks in. Quite the balanced team.

But they’re not up for an encounter with the Careers, it’s painfully obvious. They make the best of it, but when the boy from One corners them, sword in hand, grinning viciously, it’s clear there’s only one possible outcome for this situation.

Johanna glances at Finnick, he’s frozen in his seat, hands curled into fists.

In her head, she sees the scene play out, One kills the girl, Lewis succumbs to his irrational anger and grief, and gets into a fight he cannot win. Finnick stumbles backwards down the rabbit hole.

With a single strike of his sword the boy from One decapitates Lewis. From far away his mentor, Cashmere, makes a choked sound of approval, but the rest of the room is paralyzed. Johanna can’t part her eyes from the screen, the blood, the instant slow-motion replay, the sound of Annie Cresta’s horrified screams.

It’s maybe one of the worst things she’s ever seen, and she’s killed four people with an axe.

While Annie stands and screams, One takes his time to wipe his blade. He’s still grinning. Annie, who is soaked in Lewis’ blood finally turns her head to look at him, sees the savage expression on his face.

So, she spins around and runs for her life.

For a moment, nothing happens. The scene cuts to two other tributes fighting, someone says something about a kill count. Johanna’s eyes find Cashmere, she’s turned around to gloat, her plucked and painted eyebrows are raised at Finnick condescendingly.

Before either of them can says a word, he’s up on his feet and out of the door, the Career mentors jeering after him. Johanna hurries to keep up with him.

“Finnick!”

He’s already down the first flight of stairs and doesn’t stop at her call.

“Hey, Odair!”, she practically roars at him.

Ignoring the disapproving coughs of a purple haired young man, pushes through the people and sprints until she’s at Finnick’s side, grabs him by the jacket and pulls him to a halt.

“ _Finnick._ ”

“Let go of me”, he growls. His gaze is electrified.

Johanna snaps: “What do you think you’re doing? Where are you going?”

“I’m not just waiting around watching that psycho chase her down!”

“There is nothing you can do!”

She wants to shake him, knock some sense back into his brain. Exasperated, she claws her fingers into the fabric of his jacket and repeats: “Finnick. There is _nothing_ you can do.”

He pushes her away, roughly, not like the pretty boy at all, but like someone who killed half a dozen children at the age of fourteen.

“Watch me”, he shoots back at her.

Johanna returns to the mentor lounge, where she sits in his chair and stares down anyone who dares to approach. He’s gone for a long time.

On the screen, Annie Cresta is still running, or rather, hiding, One tracking her down relentlessly. It’s clear she’s not well, something has changed in the way she moves, she keeps pulling at her hair and mumbling to herself. It looks like she’s lost every bit of tactical thinking, along with the entirety of her sanity.

If she’d been in her right mind, she would have known to head for the river. Chances are, the boy from One can’t swim, and even if he could, crossing the river would still give her a minimal advantage, the opportunity to put some distance between them. But Annie isn’t thinking straight, she’s running through the forest aimlessly, tearing her clothes at branches and thorns, her skin scratched and still coloured red with Lewis’ blood.

They’ve stopped broadcasting the hunt, most of the time they’re showing the other Careers fighting Ten and Eight, sprinkling in occasional replays, mostly of Lewis’ head hitting the floor. Johanna is just starting to wonder if maybe she should go find Haymitch at the bar and leave Finnick digging his own grave, when there’s a wide shot of the river and the dam, strangely out of context.

At first, there’s just a dark sound, like crackling fire, only much, much louder. Then, like a sudden detonation of deafening gurgling, the dam breaks.

Chaos erupts. Not only on the screen, but in the mentor room as well, people are shouting, the river is roaring, and Johanna closes her eyes in disbelief.

It’s almost unbearable to watch. Those who are close to the origin of the catastrophe are ripped apart by the force of the rushing water immediately, others try to flee for the high ground, but sooner or later the river gets to them too. There are so many shots or children sinking into the dark, gasping for air, drowning, that Johanna loses count. One by one, the flood gets all of them.

Annie Cresta swims.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, really, of course she swims, she’s District Four, but after her quick descent into madness earlier, no one was expecting her to make it through the night. To be fair, it seems like the only reason she keeps above the surface is that the motion of stroking the water with her arms and legs is second nature to her. If she had to think about it, Johanna is sure she wouldn’t be able to keep herself afloat.

But Annie Cresta swims and even hours after the dam has broken, when the fallen tributes flash across the sky, she’s still moving in the water.

Most of the mentors have left when Finnick returns. There’s no reason for them to stay and watch the tragedy unfold once their tributes are gone, which leaves Johanna, holding out for Annie, alone with Chaff, Beetee and Cashmere. One from Elven, two form Three, the boy from One. And Annie. That’s all there’s left. It has to be some kind of record.

Finnick lingers in the door for a moment, taking in the drastic change in the atmosphere that has occurred since he’s left the room earlier today. Johanna wants to grab him and take him for a walk, riot until he realises what a reckless fucking idiot he is, but Cashmere is quicker.

“You’re dead, Odair”, she snarls.

There’s a fork in her hand and she holds it like a weapon, facing Finnick without any reluctance or fear. She only gets to do that because she’s his female counter part, the less sincere, less loveable version of the Finnick Odair species.

From what Johanna knows, Cashmere has always hated him with a burning passion, because he won the year after her and overshadowed all of her twisted glory, taking the position in the spotlight he never wanted and which Cashmere apparently was ready to kill for. After all, she was a Career volunteer at eighteen. Finnick most definitely was not.

“Leave it”, he says flatly.

Cashmere makes a high-pitched laughing noise and raises the fork like a threat.

“Don’t think for a second that you can get away with this.”

Johanna quietly rises to her feet. No one in the room is paying attention to the screen anymore.

“You did that”, Cashmere cries, “you killed my girl! I swear, if that crazy bitch of yours makes it because you played dirty, Odair, I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

“Don’t do this, Cashmere.”

“Or else what? What, huh? After taking my fame and my tribute you’re going to steal my other possessions too?”

She steps towards him, slowly, like a lioness closing in on her prey.

Finnick repeats: “Don’t.”

“You’re a thief”, Cashmere growls, taking another step.

“You’re a fucking thief and a fucking fraud, Finnick Odair.”

“Stop it.”

Her voice is dripping with disdain as she says: “Oh please. As if I didn’t know how you bought yourself that victory, whore.”

Finnick is at her throat before either woman can even move a muscle, his fingers digging into her skin, surely leaving heavy bruising. Cashmere’s reflexes are quick, but Johanna is quicker, when she raises the fork, Johanna jumps forward and slaps her hand away.

Then, she rams Finnick’s side, he’s taken by surprise and stumbles just enough for Cashmere to free herself of his grip and back away in a coughing fit. Johanna gets between them, ready to block Finnick in case he should try to attack again, but luckily his gaze has cleared and he’s furiously wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“Slut”, Cashmere spits.

She’s panting heavily, the fork still raised in the air between them. Finnick takes a step back and Johanna is at his side, guides him outside and back to his room, where he collapses against the wall.

He’s crying, silently and without tears, as if he were too drained, too tired to sob.

Johanna keeps a safety distance between them and she’s not sure for whose sake.

She says: “Fucking bitch.”

Then, when he doesn’t respond: “What the fuck happened, Finnick?”

It takes him a long time to answer.

“I don’t want to do this anymore”, he whispers. “I just want all of it to stop.”

It sends cold chills down her spine, the way he says it, solemnly, and half asleep already.

Finnick raises a finger to his temple, mimicking drilling it into his skull.

“Unfixable”, he mutters.

Johanna clings her arms around her torso to hold herself together, tries not to think about the razor blade hidden in her bathroom cupboard.

“Don’t be a fucking baby.”

A short laugh resulting in trembling breathing, it sounds harsh, like cutting down an ancient tree, like betrayal, like decay.

“Fuck you, Odair”, she shoots back.

It’s the panic that makes her angry. Because Johanna knows him, how to deal with his moods and how to treat him when he’s somewhere else inside his head, but this way of talking, she doesn’t know that, doesn’t know how to get him to battle on.

It scares the shit out of her. She’d rather have a fistfight with him than to helplessly watch him continue down the road his thoughts seem to be heading.

“I mean it. Get it together, Odair.”

“You’re one to talk”, he retorts. “You’re acting like you’re trying to become the next Abernathy.”

It’s Johanna’s turn to laugh, because, really, what else is there to do? They’re quiet for a while, until Finnick, finally back to his more collected self, asks:

“Is she gonna make it?”

With a shrug, Johanna tells him: “She’s swimming. What did you do for it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He doesn’t look at her, but Johanna knows the risk he took. The extent of his strange obsession with keeping just one tribute alive this time. Suddenly, she’s feeling sick.

There’s a bar just a couple of floors below and Johanna is going to make a run for it before the presence of her blade decides to settle down permanently inside her head.

Finnick calls her back when she’s already one foot out of the door.

He says: “Thank you, Jo”

Although he looks beyond exhausted, Johanna knows he’s just going to shower and then rush back to the mentor room, stay glued to the screen until the whole thing is done, one way or another.

She grimaces.

“Don’t get used to it, Odair.”

72nd

Johanna starts sleeping with Blight around that time. She’s not in love with him, at least she doesn’t think so, and the first time is kind of a drunken accident, but once she discovers that sex is the easiest way to shut him up, it becomes a regular thing. To her own surprise, Johanna finds that she is actually enjoying herself. It has to be the first time she’s felt this way ever since the arena.

Sometimes, she even lets him tell her stories after, nonsensical ones, anecdotes about his childhood, his friends and family. Anything but the Games, always anything but. The truth is, as long as she is with Blight, in that pretty little bubble he creates for her, her mind is devoid of housefires, dead children, blades, and Capitol accents. It’s quite pleasant for a change.

Finnick calls her on a Wednesday afternoon. She’s alone in the house, has been all day and she’s just in the middle of reheating some leftovers for dinner when the phone starts to ring. For a moment, she just stares at it, uncomprehending. Debates if she should pick it up at all.

Normally the only people who call her are Capitol people and Johanna never talks to them. They quickly learned to call Blight’s house instead. And anyway, what reason would they have to contact her at this time of the year? So, Johanna walks over to the phone and raises it up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Jo? Is that you?”

It takes here a moment to recognize his voice.

“Finnick?”

“Yes, hi. How are you doing?”, he asks. Something about it sounds strangely off, but she can’t quite put her finger on it.

“Why the fuck are you calling me?”

Nervous laughter at the other end of the line. Johanna can’t decide between worry and annoyance, so she pushes:

“Finnick?”

“Right, sorry. I think you were right”, he replies, words mumbled too quickly.

“Jo, I think you were right about Annie.”

Johanna hastily tries to remember what exactly she could have said about Annie Cresta that would make him call her this randomly. She definitely made a point about her mental state, but Finnick isn’t stupid, he knows best how badly fucked his victor is, how badly fucked they all are.

And of course, she teased him about being in love with her, the crazy little Four girl.

“Oh”, Johanna says. And then again: “ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah, oh.”

There’s something between panic, defeat, exhilaration in that statement. Or maybe all of the above, blended into something new, something that probably could be specified as _love_.

Johanna swallows her triumph and asks: “What are you gonna do about it?”

Because being Finnick Odair doesn’t leave room for devotion, commitment, exclusivity, something as trivial as having a real relationship. Especially not with someone like Annie Cresta. It’s a great reminder why Johanna doesn’t care for Blight, why she can’t. The consequences could be too severe, the price a thing she’s not willing to pay.

“I don’t know”, he responds. “Shit, Jo, I don’t know.”

“Well, did you talk to her about it?”

“No. I don’t think I can, I’d have to tell her everything and I’m not sure I can do that. I wouldn’t know how.”

“Then wait till it passes”, Johanna proposes. On the stove, the stew boils, splashing and spitting, dripping all over the place.

“Fuck”, Finnick sighs.

She hears a sudden sharp scream on the other end, it’s muffled through the phone, but unmistakeable. He curses under his breath, words that sounds more like Johanna and less like Finnick, and then hurriedly whispers:

“I gotta go, see you.”

The connection is interrupted.

“Bye Finnick”, Johanna says to the beeping phone.

He doesn’t call again. 

The next time she sees him he’s asleep with his head in his hand at a Capitol party.

Johanna drops down next to him on the couch, it’s hidden away behind a set of rose-coloured curtains and she’s pretty sure that he’s not supposed to be sitting there alone.

“I didn’t know they’re paying you to sleep now too”, she teases.

Finnick almost falls off the sofa, but somehow manages to recover immediately, putting on his most charming smile and replying: “That is because I’m not the one who’s getting paid.”

He rubs his eyes and adds: “Not with money anyway.”

Johanna pulls her legs up and rearranges the ridiculous green silk dress her stylist forced her into. She hates dresses and she hates the colour, so really, the fact that she’s wearing it anyway is probably a side effect of Blight’s good influence on her.

“Did you lose your date?”, she asks.

“I’m hiding, actually.”

“That’s a first.”

“Yeah, well”, Finnick brushes a hand over his leg, the pants are made of a strange feather-like fabric.

“Well what?”

He leans in, close enough for his cheek to touch Johanna’s. Her first instinct is to push him away, yell something harsh and forbidding in his face, but when he speaks, she remembers to keep her cool. He’s not trying to kiss her, just taking precautions.

Finnick whispers: “It didn’t pass. Annie, I mean.”

There are footsteps in front of the curtains, and he pulls her closer to cover both of their faces, mimicking the image of two young and reckless lovers taking every opportunity of privacy they get.

His voice barely audible he elaborates: “We kissed. I think I’m in love with her.”

“Jesus”, Johanna exclaims.

Finnick lets out his breath in a sigh and moves back to his end of the couch, acting suspiciously interested in the patterns of his feather-pants.

“Exactly”, he agrees.

“Quitting is not an option”, she assumes.

“It most definitely isn’t.”

 _So, damage control instead of abandoning the risky course_ , Johanna thinks.

She asks: “Does he know?”

“I don’t know. Probably. What doesn’t he know?”

Wiping his palms on his knees he arches his back, gracious like a cat.

“He hasn’t mentioned it. I’m guessing he doesn’t care as long as it doesn’t interfere with my… work.”

Johanna doubts that Snow is indifferent to anything that could be a potential trump for him. Loved ones of victors have proven to be his most effective tool, especially if they’re as dispensable as the mad girl from the fishing district.

“Would be smarter to be discrete though.”

“Oh, the irony”, Finnick mutters. He sits up straight again and glances through the curtains.

Johanna says: “Blight and I are having sex.”

That catches his attention, he whips his head around. His expression is complicated.

When he doesn’t say anything, she explains ineptly: “It’s good.”

The awkward silence that arises is only disrupted by the faint sound of people once again approaching their hiding place.

Finally, Finnick blurts out: “I didn’t know you were into _old_ men.”

The corners of his mouth twitch with fake distaste and in spite of herself Johanna chuckles lightly at his portrayal of the rejected lover.

“He’s not old-old!”, she protests.

“Keep telling yourself that. Just know that I am mortally offended.”

He falls into a thick Capitol-accent, rolling his ‘r’s in a perfectly exaggerated manner. Johanna has to bite her lip to refrain from roaring with laughter.

“Must be hard to know that not even you are desired by everyone.”

Finnick gasps and warbles: “I am inconsolable!”

They both break into laughter now.

Outside the curtains there’s the sound of agitated chatter. A woman’s voice calls:

“Finnick?”

Their eyes meet for a half a second and Johanna has just enough time to dive behind the couch before the woman breaks into their temporary refuge and squeals with excitement upon finding Finnick sprawled out in front of her.

“There you are”, she cries, and it sounds exactly like Finnick’s imitation of a Capitol citizen. Behind the couch, Johanna presses her face into her elbow in order to muffle the hysterical giggling that’s erupting from her uncontrollably.

“I was waiting for you”, he purrs in return. There’s no trace of the sincere young man he was just a moment ago.

The woman must have attempted to sit down next to him because Finnick quickly rises to his feet and murmurs, loud enough for Johanna to hear:

“How about we go to a place a little more private?”

With that they vanish through the curtains again, she can hear the woman shrieking with laughter all the way down the hall.

Johanna lets out her breath in a huff and gets back up. Her dress is a mess of tangled green fabric and her hair has fallen out of the strictly tied bun her stylist forced it into.

She doesn’t even try to hide the smile lingering on her face.

74th

Haymitch is waiting for them at the bar. He sits in his usual spot, visibly exhausted but nevertheless with a smug expression on his face. There’s no drink in his hand tonight.

Johanna rolls her eyes and leans against the counter. She scoffs:

“So, you took a page out of the Odair-book, congratulations.”

“Only you didn’t fuck anyone for it”, Finnick adds and then, with a sly grin he enquires: “Or did you?”

“As a matter of fact, I did not”, Haymitch replies. In Johanna’s opinion he looks a little too pleased with himself.

“So not really the Odair-book then”, Finnick says, voice dripping with sarcasm. He sits down on the stool next to Haymitch’s and grabs a bottle of wine which he passes to Johanna with out asking.

“She dropped the tracker jacker nest on my girl”, he goes on, “she’s cold. She would have made it either way.”

Haymitch shrugs and looks away.

“Maybe. But I want both of them.”

“Jesus, Abernathy”, Johanna hisses, unable to restrain herself. “Are you hearing yourself? You’re getting fucking greedy.”

The wine is sour on her tongue. Finnick grabs it again and takes a sip before saying:

“She’s right.”

“You don’t get to lecture me on that”, Haymitch growls at him. “Not after what you did with Cresta.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

His voice is raised just a little too much and he turns his head from left to right to look at both of the younger victors at his sides.

“You know what, neither of you gets to lecture me on anything. I’ve been doing this for nearly twenty-fife fucking years and not once, _not once_ did any of my children survive. So, excuse me, but if there’s a chance, just a tiny little chance that I can save two, I’m gonna try it, alright?”

Finnick takes another sip from the bottle. There’s something strange in his voice when he replies:

“A love story is original, I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, great”, Johanna groans. “You two are just unbelievable. How stupid are you, exactly? I thought he made it pretty clear what happens to us if we’re trying to cheat him, you should know just as well as I do. But here you are, the big clever boys, still so fucking ready to get yourselves killed.”

Now it’s Johanna who’s speaking too loudly. She pulls the wine from Finnick’s hands and chugs half the bottle.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared, Mason”, Haymitch says half-heartedly.

“I’m not scared, I’m realistic”, she shoots back. “Not more scared than you are, anyway. I’m being smart. Keeping my head down to get as much of a life as I still can.”

“That’s very self-preserving of you.”

“Well, self-preservation is all I’m interested in.”

To her surprise, it’s Finnick who answers.

“Aren’t you tired of it sometimes?”, he asks quietly. “Don’t you want more?”

“I want to not die”, she hears herself say. “I want to live.”

After all this time, it seems like she’s learned absolutely nothing.

Haymitch wins the Games.

Despite her predictions and warnings, and despite them coming true in the end, he still wins. Apparently, Katniss Everdeen is even more resourceful than anyone gave her credit for.

It’s a shaky victory though, built on an act of defiance that can only barely be masked as innocent. Something seems to shift in the air when the two “lovers” from Twelve raise the berries to their lips, it may be invisible, but everyone feels it, even if no one knows what it is.

When finally, Plutarch Heavensbee contacts them about the revolution, it’s Blight who says yes first.

It’s not like Johanna doesn’t want it, on the contrary. There are few things she wants more than payback. But the fear, the same old fear that has been sitting in the centre of her chest ever since the arena, it is so used to obliging her to its demands. She needs a long moment to search for the slumbering part of herself that was unwavering in the face of danger.

Johanna knows it’s inside of her somewhere, it used to be a crucial thing, before the cuts, the housefire, the rape, the child murder. It’s the feeling of her mother’s hand on hers, her father’s rare but gentle smile, it doesn’t hide in liquor but picks up an axe instead.

In the end, she decides that she has been afraid for far too long.

She spots Haymitch standing at the buffet, the boy next to him. Both of them are observing the dancefloor with suspicion. Johanna grabs her drink and walks over to them, has enough dignity not to wave and shout.

“Abernathy”, she greets him, and two heads snap around to look at her, two sets of clear, calculating eyes.

“Johanna Mason”, Haymitch says gently. Not to her though, it’s directed at the boy.

Johanna curtsies.

“Peeta Mellark. It’s a pleasure”, he says with a brief bow of his head, the smile around the corner of his mouth reveals that he didn’t mistake her mocking for politeness and simply decided to play along. She’s beginning to see why Haymitch values him so much. Cunning is a precious trait.

“So, Peeta…”, somehow she manages to bat her lashes at him over the edge of her glass, “where’s your company? Or are you free tonight?”

A hint of confusion crosses his face and he almost turns to his mentor for help. But then he simply tilts his head and replies, more smoothly than she expected: “Oh, Katniss is just teaching Plutarch some dance moves. You should see her do the boogie.”

Triumph is written in Haymitch’s expression. Johanna snorts and says to him:

“Someone trained the puppy well.”

“Well, you know how it goes. They grow up so fast.”

“It’s true”, Peeta agrees, “Haymitch is an amazing dancing teacher. His ballet moves are exquisite.”

A chuckle forms in her throat and she looks at the boy again, no pretence this time. _Clever little shit_ , she thinks.

From behind her a familiar voice enquires: “So this is what it has come to? You’re talking about ballet without me?”

Finnick, wearing a basically transparent suit and his usual lazy smile puts an arm around her and leans over to Peeta.

“Just in case you were wondering where Haymitch learned his Pirouettes…” 

He winks at him and it’s just a little too playful to not be interpreted as seductive. To his credit, Peeta doesn’t startle, just laughs and offers his hand.

“Peeta Mellark.”

“Oh, I know”, Finnick purrs, takes the hand and holds it for a second too long.

Johanna chokes on her drink.

“And are you enjoying yourself, Peeta?”, he asks.

“I am, actually. Especially the frequent vomiting is terribly exciting.”

“That’s what I always say! It’s not a party if you aren’t throwing up, right Haymitch?”

Finnick cocks his head to grin at him and is met with an eyeroll, a clear sign that, despite himself, Haymitch Abernathy is amused.

“Well, one of us has been covered in the others’ puke and it certainly wasn’t you”, he mutters.

“Ah”, Finnick retorts, “but that just means that I, unlike you, know how to party.”

“You’re surely doing much more entertaining things to aggravate the back of your throat than I do, Finnick.”

She stiffens at that. It’s below the belt, really, but since it’s Haymitch, Johanna knows it’s for show. Finnick, unaffected, ever-handsome, ever-smiling, turns to Peeta again and subtly raises his brows.

 _What a fine trio they make_ , she muses. _The three sharpest, most shameless imposters in the Capitol._ Next to them, Johanna herself feels like she’s just watching from the side-lines.

Over Peeta’s shoulder she spots a young man with several metallic piercings and a tattooed skull approaching them. Finnick follows her gaze and removes his hand from her waist, but not without amicably pinching her in the side.

He announces: “This has been fun”, and steps a little too close to Peeta, bodies almost touching.

“Let’s do it again sometime”, he hums before strolling into the crowd.

“Flattering”, Peeta mumbles and Haymitch huffs noncommittedly.

Johanna watches how the man with the piercings lets Finnick place a kiss on his cheek and then possessively puts a hand far below the victor’s waist. It makes her want to gag.

“Don’t take it personally”, she tells Peeta, who shrugs as if he hadn’t intended to.

Looking at Haymitch she adds: “Let’s hope Plutarch can keep his hands to himself.”

With another, way more exaggerated curtsy, Johanna goes to hide in the bathroom until it’s acceptable for her to leave.

13

The first thing Johanna learns about District Thirteen is how it is everything like the Capitol. It’s a funny thing since they appear to be opposite ends of some sort of spectrum, but in many ways, the most essential ways, they are the same. In both places, Johanna is a pawn, a prisoner, kept away from the beckoning reality of home, Seven, waiting, somewhere far away. Pinecones and towering trees.

(Smouldering ruins. Blight caught in the forcefield.)

It feels like Johanna has spent her whole life wanting to go back home.

In truth, nothing feels the same anymore. What used to be insignificant scares her now more than the memories and the smell of sugar and blood, the crippling fear that takes hold of her so frequently, she clings onto every single needle she can find. Feeling nothing is better than the constant dread.

(Poetic, in a way that they got both her and Blight eliminated through electricity.)

Finnick is in District Thirteen. He wasn’t in the Capitol, she would have known his screams, a sound far too familiar. He’s in District Thirteen but he looks like he came straight from the Capitol too. It supports her theory that the two things are not different after all.

“Johanna”, he says.

And, fuck, she missed him.

“Odair”, she rasps and raises a hand to touch him.

Then, she stops herself halfway and takes a closer look at him. He doesn’t seem startled by her appearance, not the bones peeking through her skin like spikes, not the hairless oval thing that is her head, not the many colourful specks all over her body. In fact, he barely seems to be anything at all, he’s fumbling with a piece of rope, his fingers raw, probably from clutching it too tightly for too long.

“Odair”, she says again. Desperation at the edge of the word, sharp like a blade.

Finnick blinks. He repeats: “Johanna.”

And he parts one hand from the rope, puts it around her still outstretched one.

“Jo…”

The tears on his face are fresh and run like rain, Johanna fights the instant urge to escape.

“I am so, so sorry, Jo. I tried to come back for you, I tried, I just, after the lightning I couldn’t move, and they wouldn’t let me go back, they… I wanted to come back for you.”

Without thinking she replies: “I know. Finnick, I know.”

And to herself, she thinks _, electricity, again._

Finnick tightens his grip and breathes, she feels herself exhale too, something like relief, like a whispered _finally_.

“Annie?”, Johanna asks.

He nods, tears still streaming.

“Good.”

“Yes. Fuck.”

After that, she doesn’t see him again for a while.

When they start to take her off the drugs, Johanna spends her nights wandering the halls like a ghost, just embracing the small freedom of walking wherever she pleases. Well, not exactly wherever she pleases, but walking at all is an improvement. Most of the time she ends up at Katniss’ bed, because Katniss doesn’t complain when she steals her doses, and because Katniss is the only one who might be even more miserable than Johanna is.

Except for Peeta of course, but Peeta isn’t really a person anymore, so she decides he doesn’t count.

Haymitch visits her from time to time, but he’s busy now, running a revolution. After everything, she’s still vibrating with the need to get back to that, the revolution. The same revolution she was initially so hesitant to agree to. What a funny thing.

And then, one day, Finnick enters the room with Annie by his side.

It’s only when she sees the two of them together that Johanna realises how much less they seemed to be on their own. Like two parts of a whole.

Annie halts in the door, her eyes fixed on Johanna. She looks breakable, as if a jab in the ribs could shatter her, but her expression is determined, she intertwines her fingers with Finnick’s and steps inside.

“Hey there, Cresta”, Johanna says.

“You’re not falling apart”, Annie observes.

“Just like I promised. You’re not either?”

She shakes her head and turns to Finnick, who’s looking back and forth between them questioningly. Johanna winks at him and explains:

“We helped each other keep it together in the Capitol.”

Finnick’s lips curl into a smile, something flashing in his eyes. Annie shudders at the last word and he quickly puts an arm around her as if that could shield her from it.

Shortly after that, Johanna moves in with Katniss Everdeen.

She’s a decent roommate, they scarcely talk and mostly focus on the soldier training. One time she asks about Peeta. Johanna tells her the truth. Another time she asks if she knew about what Finnick told them in the propo, if it happened to her too.

Johanna tells her yes to both.

“But they only made me do it once.”

“And Finnick?”, Katniss asks. “He did that for ten years?”

The horror in her voice is real.

Johanna says: “He did.”

And then she adds, a little quieter because she doesn’t mean to say it out loud:

“He’s probably the strongest person I know.”

The day of their evaluation comes and since District Thirteen is like the Capitol they don’t want her to succeed. Instead, they try to drown her.

Johanna wakes up in a hospital bed, again, and the morphine is by far not strong enough. She thinks that without Blight in it, the world feels painfully silent.

Finnick shows up and drops down on the chair next to her bed. They remain like that for a long while.

At some point he says: “I’ve been thinking, you know. I know you want to go back to Seven, after the war I mean, and if you do that’s honestly great. But I imagine it must be lonely.”

He scratches his chin and thinks for a moment before he continues:

“If you wanted, you could come to stay with us in Four. I know it’s not the same at all, but we could be neighbours, or just, you know, live close to each other.”

Again, he pauses for a long breath.

“I just can’t stand the thought of any of us being alone.”

Now, he’s waiting for her to say something. A sly remark, an insult, just some kind of reaction. Somewhere deep inside, his offer means a lot to her in a way she can’t put into words. But that part of her is numbed by the drugs and the panic and so she doesn’t do either of the things he’s hoping for.

Finnick leans in to put a hand on her shoulder, infinitely careful as always.

“Just think about it”, he hums.

When Johanna tries to, the only place she feels she really wants to go is the Capitol, to put an axe through President Snow’s skull.

Later, after the rebels conquered the city, after they got the news, she wonders if she might have died in Finnick’s place if she had.

To everyone’s surprise, it’s Annie who breaks through to her. She sits on the side of her bed, hands curled into fists, skin and bones, just like Johanna herself.

She says: “I’m pregnant.”

Johanna raises a brow, unenthusiastically. It’s more acknowledgement than she’s shown any of her doctors in days.

Through clenched teeth, Annie presses out: “Get up, Mason. I’m done breaking all the fucking time.”

When she doesn’t move, Annie grabs her wrist and pulls, Johanna wants to resist, fight back, sucker punch her, but her grip is fierce, her expression grim.

“Get up!”, she repeats.

They stare at each other for a moment, Johanna looks away first. Her fingers still closed tightly around Johanna’s arm, Annie leans in close enough for their faces to touch.

She hisses: “We’re not falling apart, remember? So, get the fuck up.”

In some ways, Johanna finds everything about this absolutely hilarious. The horrible irony in the fact that Annie is still playing the game, pushing her with mean words and unyielding persistence. That, after everything, it’s Finnick’s death they’re trying to get through.

Always so ready to sacrifice himself for the people he loved. Oh, how much she hates him for it now.

Annie enforces a strict rhythm, keeping them busy and on their feet. It’s almost impossible to fall apart when there’s barely enough time to remember to eat and sleep.

They talk about everything but Finnick, mainly how unpleasant it is to live in the Capitol, even if it’s temporary. About their childhoods, the easiest way to kill someone, their favourite foods, the one person besides Snow they would most love to see dead.

After Katniss shoots Coin at Snow’s execution, Johanna steals two bottles of liquor from Haymitch and finds Annie in her room.

“I’m pregnant you idiot”, she says when she sees the alcohol.

Johanna shrugs.

“So, I’ll get drunk for the both of us.”

They sit on her bed together, Johanna hugging her bottle and Annie with her hands resting on her stomach.

“I guess this means no more Hunger Games”, Johanna muses.

“Let’s hope so. What kind of lunatic comes up with something like that anyway?”

She shrugs again and drinks.

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

Annie shoots her a furious look but stops herself from lashing out. Instead, she says:

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Johanna pauses with the bottle raised halfway to her lips, watches her in disbelief. It takes her a moment to find the right words and when she does, they still feel inappropriate.

“You mean you want to… get rid of it?”

“No. I don’t know. No. Of course I don’t want to get rid of the baby, it’s Finnick’s baby. But I just don’t know how to raise him when I can barely hold myself together. I’m not exactly stable. Mad girl, remember.”

Etiquette would require them to laugh at that, but the context is too morbid even for victor humour.

“What about your family? You won’t have to do it alone, I’m sure they’ll support you.”

With a sigh, Annie strokes her fingers across her belly. She says:

“I know. I know that I can do it, Jo, but I’m scared.”

And then she whispers, almost inaudibly: “I just miss him so fucking much.”

Johanna puts the bottle down, it’s empty anyway. A big part of her brain is screaming at her to change the topic, lock the door, hide from the emotion behind it.

“I refuse to shatter, but it’s so much effort. I don’t even know how to look at myself in the mirror without thinking of him. It’s like I see everything through his eyes, now even more than before. And I don’t want that to change, I don’t want to lose him completely, but the fact he’s gone just hurts so much. His absence hurts so fucking much.”

“It’s like you can feel it physically”, Johanna agrees quietly.

She doesn’t know who started crying first, but they’re looking at each other with tear stained faces now. Annie reaches for her hand and squeezes it.

She says: “The offer still stands, you know. You don’t have to be alone either.”

Instead of giving a reply, Johanna reaches for the second bottle.

District Four smells like rough wind and salt.

It reminds her of Finnick, but then again, almost everything does nowadays. Johanna moves into Mags’ room, Annie goes back to her old one and Finnick’s is reserved for the baby once he’ll need it.

Since there’s nothing to do, they fall into familiar patterns. Johanna drinks, Annie ties knots.

They eat until they can’t see their ribs anymore, and then they eat some more, because neither of them is going to abstain on any ever so little piece of happiness again in their lives. Johanna buys a whole box of bracelets and breaks every razor in the house. Annie swims and runs and makes tea, Johanna drinks it with her. Sometimes they go the beach and sit in the warm sand, but never close to the surf.

Annie’s belly grows huge, they joke about it because she looks like a whale. She lets Johanna lay her hand on it to feel the baby kick. Johanna puts it on the list of good things she never knew could still exist.

On Wednesdays, Annie goes to her sister’s for dinner. Some Wednesdays, Johanna joins her.

The baby is born, and his eyes are the colour of the sea in the sun. They both cry that night, but it’s as much with joy as it is with grief.

Slowly, things get easier.

On some nights, Annie’s screams still echo through the house and Johanna still shies away from the water occasionally, but steadily, almost unnoticed by both of them, it gets better.

Finnick’s son turns one, and swims before he walks. His first word is “mummy”.

Katniss and Peeta send a letter, along with some self-made cookies and they eat them together on the porch in the afternoon sun while Annie reads the letter out loud. Johanna feels a strange warmth in her chest then, right where the ever-present fear used to reside, and she’s not quite sure what to make of it. 

It’s only days later that she realises that this is what living is when it’s more than just survival.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please leave your thoughts in the comments, they're always appreciated! If you want to, listen to the song in the title: Black Sea by Natasha Blume. 
> 
> Stay safe everyone!


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